Patience (Or Lack Thereof)
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: It feels great getting King to lose his composure as the man so rarely does. Only in moments like these where they can't keep their hands off each other. Bit by bit, Schultz lets himself enjoy it. We all have the wonderfully lovely aufwiedersehenschultz to thank for the gorgeous fanart that inspired this fanfic! Link to art: COMING SOON!


"Mmm, you feel so good, Doc. So hard for me."

He tosses off his shirt without caring where it lands.

"Django, please."

"Shhh, shhh, I got you. I'm gonna take good care of you."

Django spreads King's thighs and settles in between them, pressing his knee right up against the bulge in his partner's pants. King grunts at the contact and tries to sit up for more leverage.

"Uh huh, you stay right there," Django instructs.

He presses a firm hand to Schultz's right shoulder.

"Django..."

"Patience, Doc. Ain't that what you told me? You gotta wait for the right moment."

Django leans down to suck at King's neck but not enough to bruise. Just enough teeth to make him squirm. It feels great getting King to lose his composure as the man so rarely does. Only in moments like these where they can't keep their hands off each other. Bit by bit, Schultz lets himself enjoy it.

"That's it, sugar. Let me take care of you for a change," he murmurs into his ear.

King shivers.

"Oh, you gettin' cold? Best thing for ya is to strip you down and share body heat. You don't mind all that, do ya?"

Django peppers kisses down his chest as he unbuttons his pristine white shirt.

"Little tease," King husks.

He reaches up a hand to grip the strong bicep above him. So much power within one man. So much stronger than he. He loves it when Django dominates him like this. Teases him and makes him want it.

"You like it. I know you do."—He undoes Schultz's trousers with cocky assurance.—"You've been bulging out since I hit that man square 'tween his eyes. Taught me everything I know, didn't you, Doc?"

His hand sneaks inside and squeezes hip and thigh without yet removing Schultz's undergarment.

"You're a natural," King mutters between kisses. "Let's move this celebration along. I want you inside me. All the way in. I want to feel you move inside me."

Django pauses in his perusing kisses with a gasp at King's words. iYes. God, yes./i. He pulls back to look him in the eye.

"Where's the oil at?"

"That won't be necessary."

"But—but I thought you wanted—?"

"I do. Very much so. But you won't need to get the oil. You'll find things have already been taken care of."

Patience exhausted, Django yanks down Schultz's trousers and undergarment the rest of the way to see for himself. His hole is already wet with the oil and stretched to accommodate his cock. Django feels his brain speed up and his body with it. He undoes his trousers and grabs a calf in each hand, pressing King's legs back so he can fuck him hard. He enters him swiftly and with a grunt. iOh god./i This. This is what he had been wanting.

"When? When did you...?"

"When you went to collect the body."

Django can imagine it too. He'd gotten the bastard with a long shot and the man was decently large, especially as a dead weight. Schultz had promised to ready the cart while he went to retrieve their bounty. He can picture Schultz grabbing their vial of oil and stripping down when Django was too far away to see, back to him. Getting on his hands and knees with wet fingers prodding inside, making those sweet, sweet whimpering noises. He would know he didn't have much time because Django never took long to drag their kill back. He would almost be rushing, grunting and whining as he stretched himself further. And then he would have had to dress quickly and appear as though nothing had happened. Looking cool as lemonade in July.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Django grunts on each thrust in. "You did all that just for me?"

Django has King almost bent in half, fucking him harder and harder. Overwhelmed, King cannot find the words to answer. He can only look into Django's bright eyes with open-mouthed gasps as he reaches a hand down to jack himself off.

"I'm the tease, huh? Me? You're the one openin' yourself up behind a wagon like a bitch in heat waitin' for me to come fill you."

King's face colors red as his hand works faster on his cock. He loves it when Django talks that way to him. It makes him feel dirty and bad. And he loves it when Django shows him what he's capable of. But he can't put these feelings into words, not now, not with his orgasm seconds away from washing over him as Django keeps eye contact with him the whole time, pushing him closer and closer with each thrust.

"Django, I—!"

"Do it. Do it, Doc. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

As if it were a cue, King does. He throws his head back with a groan as warm fluid lands on the skin his open shirt has exposed. Django follows him a minute or two after. It's almost too much to bear when he finally feels Django cock pulse inside him and his seed flood his passage. The long, loud moan that Django lets out into his ear is a sound he will not soon forget.

When he's finished, he collapses onto King's chest with a satisfied sigh, and King's arms come up to wrap around him.

"That's another things you've quite got the hang of, my liebchen."

Django chuckles long and low, leans up to look at Schultz again.

"You've given me a lot of practice mein doktor."

Django knows King likes it when he's cheeky, even if he pretends it bothers him sometimes when he tries to mimic King's accent.

"Well now that you've irrevocably hurt my feelings, I suppose you should let me up to wash."

His tone is playful, but the raised eyebrow tells him that King most defintely wants to wash himself off. And, come to think of it, so does he. It's rough work dragging a 250 pound dead man across a field only to come back and have a lay with your friend and partner. Not that the whole business wasn't enjoyable.

"Care to join me for a swim, lad?"

Django doesn't miss the accompanying grin.

"I couldn't resist."


End file.
